Punch drunk off of somebody's joke
This is long, so bare with me. And if you do not read any of this then we'll have to have a squirt gun fight later.
It was the kind of early summer that woke you up with sunlight streaming through your window before you woke up on your own. Only that morning I was pulled up by my best friend Randy and was met by his friends as they surrounded my bed, I was expected to play with them or be shot by their empty squirt guns. And that was serious business. As a total tomboy, I started several mornings before that facing the same fate and never did I allow myself to be shot at. I scrubbed up and got dressed in an old orange t-shirt and pink shorts. I was 9, I hadn't yet learned to care how I looked.
We spent the entire day playing around, I had my own squirt gun and we would act like cowboys, play sporadic tag, climb trees, scream as loud as we could. All that great stuff. We were probably so annoying to the neighbors but if we were we had no idea. One of Randy's friends climbed a neighbor's fence to play with their dog without getting caught for a while. We waited for him on the other side and watched him show off. When he suspected someone was about to come out of the house, he stole a handful of dry dog food from the bowl and shoved himself over the fence again. He opened his hand and lifted his palm and asked if we wanted any. Of course we weren't wild about it. Once we turned him down he shoved the handful in his mouth and chewed through it like they were m&ms. And like nothing happened, we kept playing. Later in the day, we'd moved on to playing in dirt with our toy cars, I can't really recall much about that except that mine got lost somewhere in all the mess we were making. I had dirt up to my elbows trying to find it, I could taste dirt in my mouth from smearing it at my face when I was trying to shove my hair out of the way. But I could not find it anywhere. And I never found it because the boy who had climbed the fence saw I was getting upset and came over to help me look. And when I turned my head to look at him, that's when it happened.
I took my squirt gun and ran out of there, ignoring my friend Randy calling for me, and I started for home. Hey, I thought I was upset a moment before over the lost car but that was nothing, buddy. I was a wreck. I felt the tears burning my eyes, the street blurred in front of me, and I was crying so hard. I am serious. I am flat out bawling my eyes out, walking down the road. Not caring who saw me because as I said, I was 9 and did not give a shit. Sobbing like a nutcase, using my shirt for a tissue. I did not even stop to take a breath as I got home and shoved my way through the front door. My mom got up when she saw me, "...Megan? What happened?" I have no idea what the look on her face was because I was crying too hard to even focus but I'm sure she was so confused at my blubbering. She probably thought I got into a fight or that someone had hurt my feelings or whatever problem that 9 year olds girls have the most often. I was standing in front of her, dirt on my face, my shirt lifted and gathered in my hands, and the tears pouring and she was expecting some kind of rational answer.
She asked me again, and I was gasping for breath through my broken sobs as I finally choked out, "A boy...a boy...a boy kissed meee."
I bet she wanted to slap me.
I was crying over my first kiss. I am not that ashamed to admit it. It wasn't even that bad. But he ate dog food, you do not understand! Twelve years later I've gotten a bit more used to the kissing and have come to terms with the fact that guys are disgusting no matter what. It's something that took a lot of confusion and crying over to finally understand fully. But I guess I like them anyway.
Now, who do I have to squirt gun fight with?
It was the kind of early summer that woke you up with sunlight streaming through your window before you woke up on your own. Only that morning I was pulled up by my best friend Randy and was met by his friends as they surrounded my bed, I was expected to play with them or be shot by their empty squirt guns. And that was serious business. As a total tomboy, I started several mornings before that facing the same fate and never did I allow myself to be shot at. I scrubbed up and got dressed in an old orange t-shirt and pink shorts. I was 9, I hadn't yet learned to care how I looked.
We spent the entire day playing around, I had my own squirt gun and we would act like cowboys, play sporadic tag, climb trees, scream as loud as we could. All that great stuff. We were probably so annoying to the neighbors but if we were we had no idea. One of Randy's friends climbed a neighbor's fence to play with their dog without getting caught for a while. We waited for him on the other side and watched him show off. When he suspected someone was about to come out of the house, he stole a handful of dry dog food from the bowl and shoved himself over the fence again. He opened his hand and lifted his palm and asked if we wanted any. Of course we weren't wild about it. Once we turned him down he shoved the handful in his mouth and chewed through it like they were m&ms. And like nothing happened, we kept playing. Later in the day, we'd moved on to playing in dirt with our toy cars, I can't really recall much about that except that mine got lost somewhere in all the mess we were making. I had dirt up to my elbows trying to find it, I could taste dirt in my mouth from smearing it at my face when I was trying to shove my hair out of the way. But I could not find it anywhere. And I never found it because the boy who had climbed the fence saw I was getting upset and came over to help me look. And when I turned my head to look at him, that's when it happened.
I took my squirt gun and ran out of there, ignoring my friend Randy calling for me, and I started for home. Hey, I thought I was upset a moment before over the lost car but that was nothing, buddy. I was a wreck. I felt the tears burning my eyes, the street blurred in front of me, and I was crying so hard. I am serious. I am flat out bawling my eyes out, walking down the road. Not caring who saw me because as I said, I was 9 and did not give a shit. Sobbing like a nutcase, using my shirt for a tissue. I did not even stop to take a breath as I got home and shoved my way through the front door. My mom got up when she saw me, "...Megan? What happened?" I have no idea what the look on her face was because I was crying too hard to even focus but I'm sure she was so confused at my blubbering. She probably thought I got into a fight or that someone had hurt my feelings or whatever problem that 9 year olds girls have the most often. I was standing in front of her, dirt on my face, my shirt lifted and gathered in my hands, and the tears pouring and she was expecting some kind of rational answer.
She asked me again, and I was gasping for breath through my broken sobs as I finally choked out, "A boy...a boy...a boy kissed meee."
I bet she wanted to slap me.
I was crying over my first kiss. I am not that ashamed to admit it. It wasn't even that bad. But he ate dog food, you do not understand! Twelve years later I've gotten a bit more used to the kissing and have come to terms with the fact that guys are disgusting no matter what. It's something that took a lot of confusion and crying over to finally understand fully. But I guess I like them anyway.
Now, who do I have to squirt gun fight with?